Saving Two Lives With One Team
by Cellzo
Summary: They enjoyed one night of mirth and when Emily left early, that was the last they saw of her. Eight months later, she reappears: beaten, bloody, and with mysteries abound. Now the team must race to find out what happened and to save her and someone else.
1. So It Begins

**For those of you who keep up with TLD, here's the new story I was describing in chapter 23's AN.**

**Title: **Saving Two Lives With One Team

**Rating: **T for violence and cursing

**Summary: **They allowed themselves one night of mirth and when Emily left early, that was the last they saw of her, or so they thought. Now, eight months later, she shows up at the BAU, beaten, bloody, and with a surprise for the BAU, prompting the team to race to find out what happened and to save her and her family's lives before it's too late.

**Notes: **Every chapter will be titled with three words (from the title, 2+1). Also, I'm going to keep up with the quote thing per every chapter, since I find that they tend to vaguely describe a chapter. Also, the aim for each chapter is around 1,000 words. As always, R&R, and tell me if I should continue or give up on this idea. Thank you ahead of time to **littlegreenbottle **for her assistance :)

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><p>"<em>I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." –Maya Angelou<em>

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><p>"You going to get coffee, kid?"<p>

"Yeah, I was having trouble sleeping last night." When his brow crinkled slightly, Morgan realized that something beyond having difficulties sleeping was going on in that large mind of his. Knowing him, he'd have trouble sorting through whatever was bothering him, and so Morgan took it upon himself to be a friend.

"I'll come with ya," Morgan offered, though it came out as more of a statement. Reid stuffed his hands in his vest pockets and waited, prompting Morgan to hurriedly push his chair back and join him.

"What's up, Reid?" Morgan asked softly as they walked, Reid apparently finding the mundane gray office carpet under his loafers fascinating. He puffed out a sigh and silenced, leaving Morgan more curious than ever. It was a rare occurrence in which the famous boy genius was at a loss for words, especially with that surely expansive vocabulary of his, although there were exceptions. As uncommon as they were, they only happened when he was dealing with overwhelming emotions or incomprehensible thoughts that befuddled him, purely due to his reliance on proven facts and statistics. That was why, whenever the team saw him in a somber mood, they rushed to provide him with the supportive friendship he sometimes needed more than he knew. It just so happened that Morgan was around at the moment.

Even as silence reigned, it dawned on Morgan while he attempted to study his considerably younger companion that he knew what this was about. After all, Reid had his fair share of sleepless nights, but the same thing had been plaguing the whole team, Hotch included. It hadn't been their last case, even though it had been as horrible as the preceding one. It wasn't the prospect of piles of paperwork to fill out after having successfully completed a given case, either. It came from within, and Morgan was suddenly melancholy, a familiar feeling by now.

Eventually, Morgan was startled out of his thoughts when he nearly bumped into the coffee machine. Reid stood off to the side, his mind elsewhere, while Morgan fumbled to reassemble the tower of Styrofoam cups that had toppled when he knocked into them. The cups once again neatly stacked, Morgan proceeded to pull off the top one to pour himself a cup of the typically irksome office coffee, when Reid's voice managed to spook him again.

"I was thinking…" Reid murmured, and Morgan had to yank his hand away in order to avoid burning it with the steaming coffee, abruptly spilling into his cup with a hiss. "Did she leave?"

"You mean purposely?" Morgan clarified, pulling away his cup, plentiful with dark liquid.

"Yeah. I mean, I've thought about doing it, too."

"Leaving?" Morgan forced his tone to remain solely inquisitive as he set about preparing a second cup for Reid's coffee, which, Morgan determined, he was likely in desperate need of based mainly on the direction this conversation was taking, but also the ungodly hour of night to be at work.

"Yes. Haven't you?"

Morgan sighed apologetically while considering his response, handing Reid his cup, which Reid took absently. His eyes fixated on the swirling liquid within while Morgan carefully worded his reply. "We all have, Reid. We're surrounded by death and sickness every day. That's not even the worst of it; we see what happens to the people who go through torture, to the people who are left alone, the people who are too deeply affected to ever heal. Nobody on earth does this job without thinking, 'Is it really worth it?'"

"Is that what Emily thought?"

"I don't think so, kid," Morgan said, fully believing it. "Emily was determined to do what was right, and she knew we all loved her. Besides, even if something had been going on, not even the best of actors can get away with fooling a team of trained profilers. She had no reason to leave."

"Then, why did she? Why hasn't she called us, or e-mailed us?"

"Or sent us a postcard?" Morgan joked lamely. "I don't know, kid. I wish I did. I wish I knew if Emily was alright, where she was, if she's happy, if we'll ever even see her again."

While it was true that Morgan didn't doubt what he told Reid, it was also a strong form of reassurance. It wasn't as though Morgan had gotten over Emily any more than Reid had. What set the two apart in their distress was that Reid had abandonment issues, and everyone on the team was aware of this. When Emily just upped and left—although that may be a bad way to describe it, but it was the best that Morgan could think of—Reid instantly began having doubts. He had flashbacks to when Gideon pulled the same stunt and despite the team's continuous guarantees that this situation was somehow different, Reid still couldn't let it go.

One might presume Morgan to have been immeasurably furious with the situation, or even possibly at Emily. Morgan vehemently denied this assumption. He was avoiding using anger as a coping mechanism, because all it really earned him was a bloody hand, a dented wall, and a doctor's visit. While he still felt a rush of fury at the mystery that the team, after eight months, had still been unable to decipher, he dearly missed Emily. With unwavering certainty, Morgan enforced that Emily hadn't departed of her own accord. Whether this was actually truthful or not had yet to be determined, but nonetheless he was sound in his opinion despite the lack of evidence. Rossi had warned him not to let his own feelings be an obstacle to the truth, but Morgan had strongly reiterated himself and Rossi dropped the matter. Morgan was not a man that could be easily swayed.

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><p>It appeared as if tonight would be an all-nighter for the team sans Emily, who were still roaming around at 11 PM. The rest of the office had already left, bidding them pleasant goodnights, including Strauss (whose farewell was not as welcomed as the rest). As it was, the lighting in the bullpen was dim, only needing to lighten the office for its two current occupants: Morgan and Reid; the rest of was enveloped by shadows and darkness. Rossi, Hotch, JJ, and Garcia were all working in the confines of their individual offices, although the working part, at this point, was questionable. Even Reid and Morgan had been procrastinating and fidgeting for the past hour before Reid had finally made the decision to retrieve a much needed caffeine boost when he acknowledged that there would be no sleep in his future for tonight. As for Morgan's reasoning for continuing to reside in the office, he wasn't entirely sure, but he felt obliged to.<p>

When the duo returned to the desolate bullpen, expecting silence fit for a graveyard, they were shocked to hear ragged coughing. Both tensed and forgot their coffee, abandoning both cups on the nearby desk of a colleague. Without thinking, they simultaneously rushed to the unseen source as the coughing became more violent.

Morgan was the first to find her. She was clinging desperately to the end of his desk with a bloody hand that wouldn't be able to support her for much longer. Her dark brown eyes found his and Morgan noted the pain reflected back at him. Numb with disbelief, his eyes traveled over the rest of her body, perceiving the bruises and gashes that marred every other inch of her skin and the large tears in the ratty clothes that he never remembered her owning.

When his eyes fell on the largest part of her, her stomach, panic struck in his chest with instantaneous realization and another dose of incredulity. With an astonishingly forceful tone, he hollered at the top of his lungs.

"Call 911!"


	2. The Last Memory

**This chapter got a bit long, so it's shorter than I intended. The part that's missing at the end will be included in the next chapter. So, you won't find out what's happening to Emily in real time for another two chapters, sorry! Glad I got such great feedback on the first chapter, and I'm glad people are liking this so far. So, I'm continuing. Lacking inspiration for TLD. Hope you all had a lovely Memorial Day weekend! R&R!**

**Oh, and has anyone else heard; PAGET BREWSTER IS RETURNING TO CRIMINAL MINDS FOR SEASON 7! :D That also means Rachel Nichols is leaving... but... eh. PAGET BREWSTER!  
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><p><em>"Don't become a mere recorder of facts, but try to penetrate the mystery of their origin." —Ivan Pavlov<em>

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><p><em>Eight months previously…<em>

The atmosphere was boisterous, headache inducing. Darkness enveloped the windows and the inside was illuminated by harsh lighting. The air smelled strongly of alcohol and sweat, not a pleasant mixture by any means, but as it was, nobody appeared bothered or repulsed; they were too caught up in other happenings. Drinks clinked loudly against one in another in cheers to celebrate, people shouted over the music blaring from the speakers. The floor was littered with abandoned cigarette packs, minuscule shards of glass, eating utensils, spilled potables, and melting ice cubes. On the small dance floor, a girl shamelessly put on a suggestive show for a guy who looked a little too interested to be safe, another couple was sharing in a sloppy make out session, another pair was so intoxicated they were holding one another up and that was their substitute dance. People situated at the booths were chattering amongst themselves, all a great deal less inebriated than the majority of the occupants.

No matter the intention, everyone shared one common factor, and that was that they were out relishing in another Friday night as many people did. How they chose to do so was up to them, but everyone save the bartender and staff had chosen to spend the end of their working week as many people do. It didn't quite matter how, but everyone was most definitely enjoying themselves, a weary team of FBI agents included.

Said team sat in a quiet booth in the corner, far out of reach of the drunkards. Smiles lit their faces as they too clanged their glasses against one another in honor of another successful week. While not most people would share in their feelings, they were delighted that they had managed to apprehend a vicious and relentless killer in record time, enough so that they were permitted to spend a Friday night in each other's company (despite the fact that this feat had been accomplished early in the previous day). In the span of a few short seconds the case was forgotten in heat of everyday conversation and banter, which the entire team participated in, even the stoic boss, sitting next to a lively brunette.

A waiter visited their booth, smiling politely and setting a small glass full of amber liquid down in front of the brunette, whose smile faltered in confusion. The waiter shrugged. "A nice fella paid for it. Asked that I keep him anonymous."

"Thank you," the brunette, Emily, said, her small smile genuine.

"Enjoy your night," the waiter said, bidding them farewell as he moved onto the next table.

"Princess has a secret admirer," the man across from her, Morgan, teased. Although, right now they were outside of work, and therefore on a first name basis; Morgan became Derek, cocky, arrogant, but convivial friend, not hardened, typically unflappable and determined FBI agent.

"No use in wasting it," she chimed, downing the contents of the small glass and disregarding it just as rapidly.

"Anyways, what were you saying, Dave?" JJ smirked, picking a French fry off of Spencer's plate, to which he faked an annoyed expression.

"If only I could remember," Dave responded wistfully, a grin playing across his lips.

"Getting forgetful in your old age, Dave," Aaron commented, chuckling as Dave shot him a pointed look and Emily slapped him lightly on his bicep. "What was that for?" he complained lightheartedly, grateful for the chance to act himself, out of character as it might seem for his colleagues.

"For being hypocritical," Emily giggled, and prompted by the look Hotch gave her, she was overcome with a fit of laughter. Her melodic laughter was contagious, and Derek, JJ, Penelope, Dave, and even Spencer joined in. Unable to resist, Aaron joined in at his own expense, his low laughter blending in with his teammates, mingling, becoming one.

The high made a slow descent into soft snickers after a good few mirthful minutes. Eventually, once it was silent, Emily hiccupped, evoking quick giggles from JJ, Penelope, and Morgan. She blinked, as if trying to clear her head, and then rested her elbow on the table. In order to disguise it she put on a smile and nobody noticed.

"So I'm not the only one," Dave noted, sending a playful smirk Aaron's way.

"What have I forgotten?" he inquired.

"What did you have for breakfast this morning?" Dave retorted.

Aaron pretended to think hard on the matter, and just as a triumphant smile began to spread across Dave's face, Hotch matter-of-factly stated, "Jack and I had banana pancakes with maple syrup and milk. Jack helped me make them."

"He got you, Dave," JJ noted, a permanent grin etched on her face.

"I know when I've lost," Dave conceded, taking a sip from his glass, plentiful with shimmering red wine. His attention was drawn when Emily settled both of her elbows in the table in order to rest her forehead in her palms.

"You okay, Em?" JJ asked from her other side, placing a supportive hand on her back.

"I'm fine," Emily breathed, lifting her head again. "Just a little dizziness is all. It's been way too quiet at the BAU, and I'm tired," she remarked.

"If you say so…" JJ responded warily, removing her hand.

"I'm seriously fine, Jayje. I think I'm going to go, though."

A collective look of disappointment emanated from her friend's expressions, but it was easy to overlook in her dizzy haze. The room suddenly tilted to the side as she stood up and slid out of the booth, taking her purse along with her. She could no longer keep her balance in a room that felt like it was becoming a rollercoaster. Her hand blindly reached out for support, finding the table, but feeling just as unstable.

Various choruses of, "Are you sure you're alright, Em?" "Maybe we should drive you home." "Did you get enough sleep last night?" penetrated her hearing, but they sounded remote as she desperately tried to regain her balance. Her head felt heavy, like lead, and the clamor intensified, causing her head to pound. The malaise invading her senses was nearly overwhelming, but Emily was a strong woman, and she reminded herself that she'd be home in a warm, comfortable bed soon enough. She just had to keep her wits about her.

"I'm… I'm fine," she murmured, but again it sounded distant to her, as if her mouth was speaking of its own accord. At least some part of her was still acting rationally. "Good night, I'll see you guys tomorrow," it said unwaveringly, revealing no discomfort or distress, despite the bubbling nausea that made her want to hunch over in her bathroom at home and suffer privately. However, being who she was, she never put any of this on display, and instead put on the guise of a woman with no doubts.

When she thought she was steady, she removed her hand and took a few experimental steps forward, only to stumble as the room very nearly did a cartwheel. The nausea flared inside her and she desperately yearned to be safe at home, without the concerned gazes of her teammates on her back, without the amplified din of a busy bar on a Friday night. It took a great effort to keep it together, even when her whole body failed her and became cumbersome. The room blurred and whirled out of focus until the ground rushed up to meet her and her hands found a clean spot of brown wooden flooring with a muted thud, but even that melded into an indecipherable blob across her vision. Her head thrummed painfully and she wanted to cry, to be solitary, to fend for herself and have to rely on no one, just like she had learned how to do during her upbringing.

Her wishes weren't granted as a warm sensation covered her waist where some unidentifiable but considerate person engulfed her thin frame with their arm. The other hand grasped her own, and she just made it out to be Hotch's when his voice reached her hearing, but merged into an unintelligible question. When she never offered a response he helped her to stand, all the while the room spinning and twirling and making her feel awful. The room jerked as her legs buckled beneath her, and the grip on her waist tightened, pulling her closer to the source. Her weight was no longer her own as she leaned against the support, thankful while at the same time resentful.

All she was aware of while they moved was the inclining room that refused to remain still for a brief second, the people buzzing around her, oblivious, creating even more noise that she was unable to interpret. Her stomach, which really felt as though it were on a never ending rollercoaster, continued to complain until they passed through the door, which created an irksome ringing. The ringing finally set her off and her head dropped over on the street, dispelling whatever her body could. She was able to discern circles being rubbed soothingly on her shivering back while her body shuddered and came very close to collapsing. That was when blackness tinged the edges of her cognizance and swiftly consumed it, erasing her memory of the remainder of the night.


	3. Last Memory Cont

**There was supposed to be more to this chapter, but I got ahead of myself… I'm sorry, and it appears as though this will be a more H/P story. Can't help it, so sorry. Dense chapter. And sorry for the slow updates, school's busy, but next week is my last. After that weekend I'm all free to write. Expect an update for TLD then, and if anyone has any ideas for my next chapter, PLEASE FEEL FREE! As always, R&R!**

**This is a continued recounting of their last memory of her.**

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><p>"<em>Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. And today? Today is a gift. That's why we call it the present." –Babatunde Olatunji<em>

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><p>The rest of the bar became obscured as Hotch's attention fell solely on Emily when she unsteadily tumbled to the floor. The happenings going on in the bar and surrounding him and his companions became meaningless as it blurred out of his focus, favoring Emily. All he saw was her trembling body, confused and disoriented on the floor, and his compassionate and concerned feelings flared.<p>

He bent down to assist her, and soon after borderline dragging her to her feet, felt her collapse next to him. Unable to watch her fall again he clutched her tightly, nodded to the team to signal that he would make sure she returned home safely, and ushered her out the door. As soon as the cool, night wind hit them, she became ill, and Hotch was reminded of when Jack had contracted nasty food poisoning a month previously from a neglected fish they had caught while on a father-son fishing expedition. He had sat in his chilled bathroom at home, caressing Jack's back gently as he heaved miserably into the toilet. Without much thought, he attended to Emily in a similar fashion, holding her tightly, but offering his succor as well.

It seemed as though any lingering awareness faded as her body shuddered, and he resolved to pay her special attention. Although, he was still reluctant to abandon his team, and he knew there would be hell to pay if Emily learned of his, what she would refer to as "unnecessary" though he'd argue the point, nurturing of her in her time of need. The majority of his instincts screamed at him to escort her home until he could confirm with his own eyes that she was snug in bed, except for the one overpowering one that was intimidated by the sure backlash he would receive as a result. She was a strong, independent woman, after all. He had a vexing feeling that this, what was happening in front of him currently, was not a debut occurrence for her.

"Emily, let's get you home," he muttered in the gaping stillness of the night outside the bar, perhaps more affectionately than initially intended. Not that it mattered much, anyhow; she was on the threshold of fainting altogether, and his feelings could be easily chalked up to a natural impulse to tend to those who required assistance, especially those he cared for on a personal level.

Her eyes looked empty as they stared straight ahead, unseeing, occasionally blinking. With a sinking feeling, it suddenly fell together in his mind; the symptoms all added up, and given their current location, it was extremely plausible. He sighed, reviewing the night in his head like a movie, scene by scene, settling on the free drink. A spark of anger ignited in his chest, but he pushed it aside for now.

A cab, it's headlights dimmed and it's metal flanks shining in the moonlight, rested isolated on the curb. Hotch might not have noticed had it not been for his desperate gaze, sweeping for a fix to the current predicament. Therefore, the lonely cab was like a godsend.

He guided a rather debilitated Emily, which caused him a twinge of regret for not being more suspicious of the pseudo affectionate gift of a free drink. Thoughtfully, he watched Emily as she stumbled like a ragdoll attempting to walk; very limply. He conceded after a few moments of lethargic, baby step like efforts at moving forward towards the moonlit cab. She was an attractive woman, no doubt, although he never was one to take the time to consider this quality of hers during work hours when his mind should be focusing elsewhere. He berated himself harshly for not having been more wary, especially when their waiter knew next to nothing about the heartless predator that had dared set his sights on their Emily. There were a multitude of creeps patrolling a busy bar on a Friday night, looking for the most appealing women to take advantage of. It sickened Hotch, especially when he unfortunately saw it occur so frequently in his line of work. If only he could get his hands on the guy who did this…

But now was not the time. Emily was entirely detached, sluggish, and had he abandoned her now she would have likely collapsed, and Hotch didn't want to think about the events that would surely follow. Not to mention he would feel utterly guilty, which was not a weight he desired on his shoulders when she called him the next morning, sobbing, terrified, alone, unsure, confused, all because he had acted selfishly. This was an outcome he would avoid at all costs.

Taking a firmer grip on her waist, the imaginary sounds of her pathetic weeping echoing in his ears as if to taunt him, Hotch endeavored to reach the cab, which was only a few tantalizing feet away, as rapidly as possible. That being, preferably before Emily completely became a dead weight. At least she was moving her feet as if to walk, which was reassuring. She was trying was what mattered.

"Em, Emily," he cooed, his mouth hovering near her ear in hopes that he could get through to her foggy mind. "Can you hear me?" A languid nod and she managed to direct her hazy eyes towards him. "Good." He took special notice to his tone and the voice he gave himself through his word choice.

He intended to inform her of his current objectives, but instead heard himself blurting out, "are you okay?"

She apathetically giggled, disoriented. "Mm-hmm," she hummed, her mouth uncooperative. She blinked in a futile shot at clearing her head. "Ev'rythin's tilt-y," she slurred, " 'n I'm sleepy."

"I know," he told her. "I'm going to trust you to get home safely, alright?" She acknowledged him with another nod. "This cab driver is going to get you home, but you can get yourself in the door?"

"N'eh'bor 'll 'elp," she said, sounding more tired than drunk (even though she was far from intoxicated, only having indulged in one lone drink). "Nice la'y," she murmured as Hotch propped her up against the side of the door, "bu' she has tha' _really _lou' 'og, go'amn poo'les."

Really not even bothering to try to decipher whatever it was she was going on about, he leaned in the open window of the passenger door. "Excuse me," he said quietly, careful not to wake him if he was asleep. Evidently he was not; he shifted from under his newspaper with a rustle and peered up at Hotch from the shadows of the car.

"Sir?"

"My friend here was drugged. Do you think you could take her home, make sure she gets in alright? I'll pay you extra."

"Not a problem," he said, delighted no doubt by the promise of an extra few bucks by observing some woman, but nonetheless determined to earn it.

"Thank you," Hotch said, his chest burning with faint, unsatisfied apprehension as he slipped the bills from his wallet. He dictated to the driver her address and walked back to Emily, who was still babbling under her breath. "C'mon," he whispered, leading her nearly slack body into the leather seating. "Be good," he advised with a trace of humor, and she chuckled.

He reached across her gently in order to click her seatbelt in place and her nimble fingers danced absently across his muscled forearms while he did so. He felt uncomfortable for only a few awkward moments while she continued examining his arms, but he felt the discomfort ebb and he came to appreciate the warm feather touches. He purposely stalled setting her seatbelt in place.

"T'ank you," she told him sincerely, smiling lazily at him as he straightened his back. Somewhat reluctantly he closed the car door, watching her grin at him through the window. The car started up and her lipstick covered lips remained in a fond smile that only she could display in that special way of hers that was only Emily. The vehicle pulled away from the curb, gaining speed quickly, and he watched as her smiling face disappeared down the road along with the cab before turning around to reenter the bar and discuss what had just happened with the team.

That was the last he saw of her or heard of her voice for eight months and three days. It would become one of his biggest, most nagging regrets, not to mention curiosities, during that span.


End file.
